


world doesn't stop moving forward

by venndaai



Category: Machineries of Empire Series - Yoon Ha Lee
Genre: Alcohol, Board Games, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-01-10 21:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai
Summary: "Maybe after things settle down, we can hole up with some board games and get roaringly drunk, but in the meantime, you have a job to do."





	world doesn't stop moving forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tedronai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/gifts).



“I’m not sure I actually have any alcohol here,” Mikodez said, eyeing the cabinets. He couldn’t remember storing any, but there was a fairly high chance that Istradez or Spirel, or both, might have stashed something in the suite.

“I thought you might not,” Zehun said, and placed their bag down on the polished wood counter. They took out a wine bottle, and some paper cups. Mikodez noted that the cups were red with a design of stamped gold foxes running around each rim; the kind that got handed out at the biannual Shuos barbecue.

“I should have known you’d be prepared,” Mikodez said, and sat on the couch. He folded his hands in his lap, and considered further the probability of Istradez leaving alcohol in the apartment, brain worrying at the problem, until a paper cup was pushed into his hand. Red liquid in a red cup. Naturally his mind brought up blood as a first association.

“I can’t remember the last time I drank alcohol,” Mikodez said. Depressants weren’t usually his thing. He stared at the cup. “Is this medically advisable, do you think?”

“Isn’t this what your on call team of health specialists is for?” Zehun said. “Drink. If anything alarming happens I’ll alert your army of medics.”  They sat down, on the other end of the couch from Mikodez, not too far but not exactly close, either.

“You’re supposed to be more responsible than me,” Mikodez said. He took a swig, and made a face.

“And you’re not supposed to drink whatever’s handed to you,” Zehun replied, “when the person who handed it to you hasn’t taken the first sip, and happens to know the details of every failsafe protocol against them.”

Ah. So he wasn’t going to be excused from discussing that, after all. Mikodez drained his cup, and then coughed. “Fox and hound, is wine supposed to taste that bad? I don’t remember.”

“Very cheap wine, yes,” Zehun said. Mikodez made a face at them. “Don’t make that face at me, brat. I was hardly going to waste something valuable on your palate.” They took a sip from their own cup, and made a face of their own. “And this ensures that we only drink as much as we wish to.”

“Impeccable logic,” Mikodez said. He refilled his glass. “A toast, then. That is how this goes, yes?”

Zehun was silent. Mikodez rowned at them. “You’re the one who invited yourself,” Mikodez said. “You might as well help me come up with appropriate wording.” He poured a third glass, and put it carefully on the table. “To Vauhan Istradez,” he said. “Who deserved better family.” When he looked up, Zehun was looking terribly disappointed. “I believe board games were mentioned?” Mikodez said.

 

The first game Zehun produced was Colonizers of Serray, with three of the better expansions. Zehun agreed to timed moves, something they both knew always benefited Mikodez, who was the better speed thinker. Mikodez was therefore immediately suspicious. After watching Zehun carefully throughout the hour-long game, though, Mikodez had to accept that the only cheating they were doing was regularly refilling Mikodez’s wine glass.

“Ugh,” Mikodez said, when Zehun won the final victory point with a well-place space station. “All right, what’s next?”

Next was Warship. It took Mikodez a while to set up his moths, because his hands and eyes were at this point not coordinating well. Thankfully Zehun couldn’t see his fumbling from behind the little screen. Mikodez found himself wondering if Kujen ever played Warship. Mikodez knew the man spent a lot of off the books time with Jedao; surely they must have played a game or two at some point over the centuries. Mikodez wondered if Kujen would be capable of restraining himself from cheating. Mikodez wasn’t an incorporeal revenant and couldn’t invisibly peek at Zehun’s side of the board, but he did manage to knock his wineglass off the side of the table and sneak a look while he was wiping at the resulting stain with a napkin. Zehun didn’t call him out on it, but proceeded to win anyways; they’d probably based their strategy on a prediction that he’d cheat.

“Oh, stars, the night isn’t even half over,” Mikodez moaned, calling up the time on his implant.

Zehun just smiled, and reached into their bag, pulling out another box. Foxes and Roses.

Mikodez played the Andan side, for the hell of it. He actually won.

“I did have an unfair advantage,” Mikodez admitted, when Zehun put down their cards and sighed. “We used to play this all the time on school break. The older kids were always too busy to entertain us. Istra insisted on being roses every time. He’d throw a fit if I rolled higher and picked the wrong side.”

Zehun leaned back against the couch cushions, contemplating their wineglass. “On occasion,” they said, “I almost regret not witnessing your childhood.”

“You absolutely did,” Mikodez protested, “unless you’re arguing that I was a genuine adult at seventeen. Honestly, you got the best deal with me: none of the diapers and screaming, all of the amusingly suicidal pranks.”

“Sometimes it’s very obvious you’ve never been a parent,” Zehun said.

“Well,” Mikodez said, mouth suddenly dry. “Can you imagine a small clone of me running around?” He took another drink.

“I’d like to hear more about what Istradez was like before I knew him.”

“I’d like to beat you again,” Mikodez said. “Come on, don’t lie and tell me you don’t have another game hidden in that absurdly spacious bag of yours.”

Zehun pressed their lips together, displeased. “I’m not sure you get the fucking point of this exercise.”

“I apologize for my stupidity, then, Instructor,” Mikodez said, more bitingly than he would have sober. But Zehun really had sounded just the same as they had forty-seven years ago, critiquing Mikodez’s homework, and a wave of emotion hit him. Drunk as he was it felt like lying in the shallows when the tide comes in, though it had also been decades since he experienced an ocean from closer than the distant view from the Citadel’s planetside windows. “Fine,” Mikodez said. “If your purpose is getting me to cry I’m sure I can manage that.”

“You’re not required to do anything on my behalf,” Zehun said, face unreadable, though that might have been because he couldn’t focus on it. “This is for your benefit.”

“That’s very annoying,” Mikodez said. “That thing you’re doing. I can see right through you, you know. You are entirely transparent.”

“I wasn’t under any illusions otherwise.”

“Shut up.” Somehow his head had ended up in Zehun’s lap. How had that happened? Zehun seemed to be stroking his hair, so Mikodez wasn’t going to complain. Not about that, anyway. “Zehun-shei,” he said.

“Yes?” The voice came from above now. Mikodez shut his eyes on the off chance it would stop the world from spinning. It didn’t. “I thought I was shutting up.”

“I was lying,” Mikodez said. “When I said I wouldn’t think twice about becoming- whatever the situation called for. If I thought it would help. I think I was lying.”

Zehun’s fingers didn’t pause in their comforting motion. “I’m glad to hear that,” they said.

“Really?” Mikodez didn't like the way his own voice sounded.

“I don’t want you to be an automaton,” Zehun said. “If I ever gave you that impression, I- I apologize.”

Mikodez could see Zehun’s other hand, where it was resting on their knee. His right arm was in a good position to reach out and grab that hand. Zehun didn’t protest when Mikodez brought it to his lips, kissed the palm and then rested his cheek against the soft, thin skin. He knew he was only doing this because Istra wasn’t there, but he couldn’t help it, he needed the contact. Not with a Shuos courtesan, not tonight, not with someone he might have to someday kill. “Good to know I’m not the only sentimental fool in the room,” he murmured.

Zehun only sighed, and said, “Drink some water before you fall asleep on me.”

Mikodez was contrary, and didn’t. A hangover sounded like a distraction he needed.

He woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Zehun's light snoring and a violent urge to be sick. He managed to roll out of Zehun's lap and off the couch without waking them, and made it to the bathroom before his body rebelled. It brought up memories half a century old, of being sixteen, Istradez holding back his hair, which had been long, then, Istradez making some joke, one hand rubbing circles on Mikodez's back. It was quiet in the opulent bathroom, now, and dark, with the stillness of early hours, though that was in some ways an illusion; the Citadel, like most stations, ran on shifts and half its inhabitants were busy working and talking and doing their best to clean up the fallout from Mikodez's actions right now. Things were only dark and still for him, trying to wash out his mouth with a minimum of noise, and Zehun, who was still asleep when Mikodez stumbled back into the living room, looking small and fragile curled against the big cushions of the couch. Mikodez was very grateful for their snoring, because without it he knew he'd constantly be panicking that they were dead. 

He found a throw blanket in a closet and tucked it around his assistant, and then kissed their forehead on impulse. A good way to get yourself killed when the target was a Shuos, but Zehun never stirred. They really were getting old. Mikodez still had his younger self on his mind, a shadow of teenage memory, and he had a moment of mixed mirth and disorientation, imagining what that Miki would have made of this scene. 

The past was gone, and he needed to shake it off. Sleep would do that. 

He'd meant to retire to his bed, but it was very cold and empty, and instead he collapsed back onto the couch, and took Zehun's cold hand in both of his, and stayed there watching the viewscreen-window on the far wall display the station's rotations around the planet, the sun rising and setting and rising again, until the arrival of artificial morning.


End file.
